More than Gold
by Renee6061
Summary: What really happened all those years ago when Jonathan and Martha first met? Was it plain sailing, or were there obstacles to overcome?
1. Default Chapter

More than Gold

Disclaimer: Most of these characters aren't mine.

Author's note: I've always wanted to find out more about Jonathan and Martha's courtship. So I finally decided to take the plunge and come up with my own version of their story. (Thanks go to Smallvillian at , where this was originally published, for helping me think of a title, and for her encouragement.)

"Late as usual," Carol remarked as her roommate slid into the seat next to hers in the college classroom.

"Not this time," Martha defended herself, looking up at the clock. "It's only five till."

"Yeah, but aren't note-takers supposed to be the first to show up and the last to leave?"

"Oh, Lord, don't _you_ start on me." Martha set her books on the desk with more force than was strictly necessary.

Carol raised an eyebrow. "Somebody's in a mood this morning."

Martha sighed. "Sorry."

"No problem." Carol held out her coffee. "Here, get a little caffeine into your system. I got extra large. I knew you wouldn't have time to stop and get your own." As Martha gratefully took a long swallow, Carol eyed her knowingly. "Let me guess. Talked to your dad last night, didn't you?"

"This morning." Martha stared at her desk.

"Same conversation?"

"More or less. He'd thought up a few new harangues he wanted to try on me."

Carol hesitated a moment. "I have to say, I don't see what the big deal is about applying to law school."

"Besides the fact that I don't want to go?"

"And why not? You're brilliant, so you'd do great in law school. You argue with everything I say, so we know you'd make a good lawyer. And it's not like you have anything else on your plate."

Martha flinched slightly at the last part. It was her weak point in all her arguments with her father. She knew what she didn't want to do, but it was getting downright embarrassing that in her senior year of college, she hadn't figured out yet what she _did_ want to do. She loved school, would have liked to go on to graduate school—but not law school. Just the thought of the gloomy, book-lined office next to her father's, where he expected her to end up, always made her feel smothered.

She skipped over that and went back to the point before it. "It doesn't take a good lawyer to argue with you. All it takes is someone with half a brain."

"Hey! Just for that, I want my coffee back."

Martha handed it over and started to rummage through her purse for pens. "Sometimes I think that all I really want to do is find someone nice and have a big family," she said thoughtfully.

"In the first place, you'd have to date someone, which you haven't done in two years." Carol ducked as Martha swatted at her.

"I have too, and you know it."

"Duty dates with your father's boring friends don't count. And in the second place, sounds great if you're into dirty diapers and sticky handprints. Not for me, thanks." She glanced idly around the room as she sipped her coffee. "Hey, look, the hayseeds are here."

"Carol, behave," Martha said mechanically, without looking up. "The students from Smallville usually seem nice."

"And they always sit in a clump," Carol scoffed. "Like they're going to be contaminated by us wicked city-dwellers. Look at that one—didn't even bother to change out of his farm clothes. I'll bet he came straight from the cow pasture in that getup." But she let her eyes linger for a moment, letting out a whistle under her breath. "Pretty cute, though, I have to admit."

Martha snorted. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She half-turned in her seat to look where her friend was looking. "Do you like him or don't—" She stopped as abruptly as if she'd run into a wall.

Carol watched her for a second, a grin breaking over her face. "_I_ don't especially like him," she finally said. "I'm seeing someone, remember? Good thing, too. I wouldn't want to get in your way."

Martha didn't respond. She was still staring at the tall, blond young man in the blue plaid shirt a couple of rows over. He turned to speak to someone next to him, caught her eye, and smiled. With a start, Martha realized her mouth was hanging open slightly. Not daring to smile back, she dropped her eyes to her notebook and started to scribble the class title and date at the top of the page, her face redder than her hair.

Carol stifled a guffaw as the professor came in. "That houseful of kids might not be such a bad idea after all," she whispered, opening her own notebook. "Especially if they all took after him."

To be continued . . .


	2. Chapter 2

"So when do I get to meet that mystery man of yours, anyway?" Martha asked as they stepped out into the sunshine later.

"Not at all," Carol said decidedly.

"Thanks a lot."

"Nothing against you, sweetie. But he doesn't know I'm a college student, and I'd like to keep it that way. I'm masquerading as a fascinating older woman. And you'd be sure to blurt something out and give me away."

"Oh, it's one of those relationships based on honesty," Martha remarked dryly. "Should be a huge success." Looking sideways, though, she had to admit to herself that if anyone could pull off an act like that, it was Carol. Her friend's striking features and sophisticated clothes made her appear mature beyond her years. Even her tendency to say whatever came into her head gave her an air of fearlessness and daring that attracted more people—especially guys—than it put off.

"Martha, when you've got a chance to land an incredibly wealthy, charming, attentive bachelor, honesty suddenly moves _way_ down on your list of priorities."

"Um—yeah." Martha suddenly sounded distracted. "Carol, you go ahead, all right? I just remembered something. . . ." She trailed off vaguely.

Carol followed her gaze across the courtyard to where the tall "hayseed" sat on the edge of a stone fountain, eating an apple and glancing through a textbook. "Sure you did," she replied good-naturedly. "Well, you've got a nice, romantic setting there. Why don't you go sweep him off his feet?"

"Very funny." Martha started to walk towards the fountain, adding primly over her shoulder, "Besides, PDAs are disgusting."

"Depends on if it's you or someone else," Carol pointed out sagely. "See you for lunch?"

Martha nodded without looking back. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt slightly dizzy. _What am I doing? I don't know this guy from a hole in the ground! What am I even gonna say to him? _The answer that occurred to her sounded incredibly stupid, but it was all she could think of.

As she approached, the young man glanced up and got quickly to his feet. Martha gulped. She couldn't remember the last time one of the "duty dates" had stood up for her. The simple courtesy threw her, even further than she'd already been thrown.

"Um—hi. I think you were in Dr. Forrester's class, right?" She found herself craning her neck a little as she spoke. He was even taller than she'd realized.

"That's right," he answered in a voice that was deeper than she had expected, smiling again. "I remember seeing you."

_You mean you remember me acting like a nincompoop._ Martha forced that thought to the back of her mind. She spoke slowly, concentrating on each word, determined not to make a fool of herself again. "I was just wondering—I think I missed a couple of points in the lecture. Could I please borrow your notes?"

The young man seemed to hesitate just for a fraction of a second. Or was it only her guilty conscience? _He saw me talking to Carol—he's gonna ask why I didn't borrow her notes. Or maybe he knows I'm the—_

"Sure." His voice cut through her panicky speculations as he handed her his notebook.

She took it, still feeling dazed. The strangest thought had come into her mind, turning her face hot again. Desperately she searched for something to say. "You don't even know my name. How can you be so sure I'll bring it back?"

He shrugged a bit. "I prefer to believe in people." His blue eyes twinkled at her. "You do have a name though, right?"

"Of course—I'm sorry." Martha hastily shifted her books to her left arm and held out her hand. "Martha Clark."

"Jonathan Kent." He shook her hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Martha."

"You too." He wasn't letting go of her hand, and that was making it even harder for her to think straight. She had to end this conversation before her brain shut down completely and she turned into a babbling idiot. "I'll, um, get this back to you. Thanks."

Jonathan nodded politely and finally released her hand. Although that was the result she'd been trying to achieve, Martha was conscious of a distinct feeling of disappointment. She managed to give him what she hoped was an alluring smile and not an imbecilic grin as she turned to walk away.

She hadn't taken half a dozen steps before she realized she was in for it. Carol was standing at the exit from the courtyard, well within earshot of the fountain, doubled over with laughter. Martha summoned up what little dignity she could and walked towards her, head high, but with her cheeks still flaming.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Carol gasped.

"Shut up!" Martha hissed. "He'll hear you!" She grabbed her friend's arm and dragged her down the sidewalk, away from the courtyard.

"'I think I missed a couple of points,'" Carol mimicked in a high, mincing voice. "What're you gonna do when he finds out you're the note-taker?"

"He's not _going_ to find out," Martha replied, giving her a long, meaningful look. "Not unless you want me to start answering every phone call with 'This is Carol's apartment at Metropolis University. Did you know she's a college student?'"

"All right, all right." Carol wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "It's worth it anyway, just to see you go after a guy. I can see the headlines now: 'Martha Clark Ambushes—' What was his name again?" She pulled the notebook out of Martha's hands and flipped it open. "Nice name. Kent. Goes real well with Martha."

"Oh, give me that." Martha snatched the notebook back and walked faster as Carol dissolved into giggles again. The corners of her own mouth were twitching over the whole absurd situation, but she wasn't about to let her friend see. And not for anything would she have told Carol the thought that had struck her as she'd looked at Jonathan Kent—the thought that was still haunting her as she walked across the campus toward her next class.

TBC . . .


	3. Chapter 3

"Carol, would you mind answering the door when Jonathan gets here?" Martha asked, poking her head out of the bathroom. "You know he's always early."

"No, he's always on time. You're always late," came the response from the living room of their campus apartment, where Carol was curled up on the couch with a magazine.

"Same thing." Martha ducked back into the bathroom and continued struggling with a stubborn earring.

"Do I have to get dressed?"

"Not if you don't want to."

Martha got the earring in and stepped out into the hallway to take a more careful look at her friend. Carol had been confined to the couch all day with some kind of stomach trouble, which had made her uncharacteristically quiet and moody. She insisted she was on the mend, but Martha still had her suspicions. After all, it wasn't like her roommate to let a guy see her in her ratty old bathrobe. "Carol, are you sure you're feeling better? I can stay in if you need—"

Carol rolled her eyes. "I'm _fine_, Mommy. Go on, get your makeup finished. You're not canceling your first date with your dreamboat."

"It's not our _first_ date. Just our first _nice _date," Martha reminded her. For the past couple of months or so—ever since she'd returned the notebook and steered the conversation to an appointment for a study date—she'd been seeing quite a lot of Jonathan Kent. But somehow it was always informal—study dates, coffee after class, lunch in the cafeteria or a fast-food place, a lecture sponsored by the university's agricultural department. Not exactly the kind of courtship every girl dreams of.

It had taken some strong (though tactful) hinting on her part to finally get him to ask her to dinner. She couldn't figure out what had made him so reluctant to go on a "nice date"—they always had such a great time together—but tonight she was too excited to worry about it.

"Well, you're not canceling that, either." Carol went back to her magazine.

"Maybe you should give M.M. a call," Martha suggested, using their abbreviation for Carol's "mystery man." "That might cheer you up."

"M.M. can go jump off a bridge for all I care," Carol answered morosely, without looking up.

Martha did a double take. "Carol! What happened? I thought everything was going so well!"

"Martha, I _really_ don't want to talk about it, all right?" There was an edge in Carol's voice that Martha had never heard there before. "Just go do your makeup."

Martha looked at her in astonishment. When, in their three years of friendship, had Carol ever _not_ wanted to talk about whatever was on her mind? She stood there indecisively for a moment, but Carol kept her eyes on her reading. Finally Martha shrugged helplessly and went back into the bathroom, pulling the door almost closed behind her.

The knock on the front door came just a minute later. Martha envisioned Carol dragging herself off the couch and forcing a smile as she went to answer it. She might let herself be seen in her bathrobe, but there was no way she was going to let any guy, no matter who, see her in the dumps.

Sure enough, she heard the change in Carol's voice as soon as the door opened. "Well, hi there, handsome. I almost didn't recognize you without your flannel."

"Cleaned up just for you, Carol." Martha could hear the grin in Jonathan's voice. He found her roommate a never-ending source of amusement.

"Yeah, don't I wish. Well, hang on, I'll go get her." Carol came through the hallway to the bathroom and flung the door wide but didn't bother to lower her voice. "Hey, Martha, some good-looking stud is out here waiting for you."

"_Carol_—" Martha squeaked.

"_Where?_" Jonathan's voice came from behind Carol. "Where is he? I'll kill him!"

Martha couldn't help laughing. "Will you two get out of here? I'm not ready yet!" She shut the door in Carol's face (but not before peeking over her shoulder to confirm that the suit and tie did become Jonathan very well). "And take your warped humor with you!" she called through the door.

She could hear Jonathan say something to Carol, who laughed, and felt grateful to him for cheering up her glum friend even for a few minutes. The anxiety that had been nagging at her began to dissipate. She finished putting on her lipstick, blotted her lips, and went out into the living room with a smile that wasn't forced.

"I think you ought to do something about her," Jonathan said, still chuckling, as he and Martha came out into the hallway outside the apartment. He reached to open the hall door for her. "She really knows how to embarrass a guy."

"Oh, Carol's beyond hope," Martha laughed. As he held the door, she paused to give him a swift, sweeping glance from head to toe. "But you know, she's very often right about things." She turned and walked demurely through the doorway ahead of him.


	4. Chapter 4

"I missed you in class this morning," Martha said after they had ordered their meal. "Carol was out too, nursing that stomach bug of hers. Dullest class I ever sat through."

A cloud came over Jonathan's face. "My dad needed some extra help on the farm this morning."

Martha realized she'd touched a sore spot. "Did you have another argument?" she asked quietly.

"Well, at least I managed not to blow up at him this time," Jonathan said ruefully. She could tell he was recalling the times he'd told her about when he _had_ blown up at his father. "That's something, I guess. But it wasn't very pleasant."

"I'm so sorry, Jonathan." Martha slipped her fingers into his.

"He's a good man, Martha." Jonathan was gazing at something she couldn't see, a troubled look on his face. "He really is. I wish I were more like him in some ways." He looked at her again with a wry little smile. "Of course, my mom always says the problem is that I'm _too_ much like him."

_Maybe you are_, Martha thought. _If he's as good a man as you say._

"He just—he isn't always very understanding. You know, he was almost forty when I was born. Sometimes I think maybe he doesn't remember what it was like to be my age."

"Maybe that has something to do with it." Martha sighed. "I wish I knew what to tell you, Jonathan. But I'm not exactly an expert in the father department either."

"I know." He squeezed her hand lightly. "It's just nice of you to listen."

Martha looked at him, exasperation starting to rise in her. _It's not nice of me at all_, she wanted to say. _When you care about someone, you want to listen to him. Are you telling me you still have no clue how I feel about you?_

Just then the waiter brought their salads, and the conversation shifted to other matters.


	5. Chapter 5

"Can you park here?" Martha asked when they were still some distance from her building. "It's such a nice night, I'd like a walk."

"Sure." Jonathan parallel parked his truck by the curb and came around to her side to open the door. As he helped her out, he lifted amused eyebrows. "Are you sure those heels won't be a problem?"

"Nah. We girls get used to them." She grinned at him. "And they say women are the weaker sex."

Jonathan chuckled as he shut the door behind her. The two of them walked for a little while in a comfortable silence. As they passed the fountain where they'd had their first conversation, Martha gazed at it dreamily, thinking how romantic it looked in the moonlight.

Then she caught her heel in a crack in the sidewalk and nearly went sprawling.

"Whoa!" Jonathan grabbed her arm and held her up.

Martha leaned against him and steadied herself, not knowing whether to be embarrassed or laugh. Jonathan made the decision for her. "I hate to say I told you so—" he began, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Then don't say it." She put a hand playfully over his mouth. "It's all your fault, anyway."

"_My _fault?"

She started to walk again, hoping he hadn't noticed her blushing over her silly fall. "If you weren't so darned tall, I wouldn't have to wear such high heels."

"Oh, is that it? I thought it was because you were so darned short."

"Watch it, buster!" Martha turned too quickly, lost her balance, and almost went down again. Jonathan grabbed both her arms this time, laughing.

"Hey, I thought that was just a ginger ale you ordered! Or did you tell them to put something stronger in it?"

Mortified as she was—_I am throwing these stupid shoes away the minute I get home!_—Martha was laughing too. "I guess you'd better carry me home," she gasped.

"With pleasure." Jonathan leaned down and slipped an arm around her shoulders as if to scoop her up; she put both arms around his neck. Their eyes met, and their laughter died away.

Martha felt her face turning hot again—not from embarrassment this time—as she stared up into Jonathan's eyes, everything gone from her mind but the warmth of his arm and the sound of his breathing so near her. She took a step closer, lifting her face to his.

At the same moment, Jonathan let go of her shoulders and straightened so that she had to break her hold.

"On second thought, I think I'll make you walk. Serves you right for making fun of my height." His voice was still teasing, but there was a strange expression on his face. He looked uncertain, almost—worried? _What on earth does he have to be worried about?_

Martha took a second to catch her breath, then tried to match his tone, to keep from sounding as confused as she felt. "Well, the least you could do is give me an arm, sir."

"Certainly, ma'am." Jonathan seemed to have regained his composure as he made a little bow and offered her his arm. She took it, a bit more tentatively than she would have half an hour ago. They walked on in a silence that no longer felt comfortable. But there was a determined set to Martha's jaw that, despite the moonlight, it was too dark for Jonathan to notice.

-------------

Martha felt her palms getting damp with nervousness as they climbed the outside steps of her building. At the top she stopped and faced him, so that he had to stand on the step below her. There, that was better. Now they were at eye level.

"Jonathan—I had a really good time."

"I did too." As he reached to take her hand, Martha thought, _Okay, sweetheart, now or never_. She put both her hands up to his face, leaned forward, and kissed him. The kiss lasted even longer than she'd intended it to last, as she felt his arms go around her and draw her closer.

She finally pulled back and looked into his eyes again, one hand still touching his cheek. She didn't have to wonder anymore how he felt. Everything she'd wanted to know was there on his face.

She felt a huge, silly grin spreading over her own face, and didn't try to control it.

"Good night, Jonathan," she said softly, after a long moment, and walked into the building.

TBC . . .


	6. Chapter 6

Heels or no heels, Martha ran up the stairs to her floor as if she had track shoes on. She was so giddy she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She could just hear Carol's voice in her head: _I can't believe you did that!_

_Neither can I_, Martha answered mentally. _But I did! And it was so incredible. . . . _She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and closed her eyes, living the experience all over again.

She was still standing there when Carol's voice, coming high and shrill through the door of their apartment, made her jump. Who in the world was her roommate talking to? Martha stepped closer to their door.

"That's a lie, and you know it," she heard. Then a pause. Carol must be on the telephone.

"No, I _didn't_ want to do it!" The voice rose even higher. "I told you a hundred times I didn't! I only did it because you wanted me to. Because you couldn't get married right now, and you couldn't afford any 'bad publicity.'" She spat out the last two words. "It was all _my_ problem, right? It didn't have anything to do with you. And everything was going to be just wonderful once I took care of it. I can't believe I was stupid enough to listen to you!"

Martha stood frozen with shock, her hand on the doorknob. _I shouldn't be hearing this._ She was just stepping back from the door when she heard Carol start to sob. Quickly she took her key from her purse and opened the door, but didn't move any farther than the doorway. Carol hadn't turned the light on, but Martha could make out her silhouette by the glow from the streetlamp outside. She had one hand over her eyes, and she was shaking. From where she stood, Martha could hear a faint murmur on the other end of the line.

"No, thank you." Carol swallowed another sob and spoke in an ominously low tone. "I don't need to see a psychiatrist. And I don't want any of your money." Her voice rose toward hysteria again. "I don't want anything from you, ever again!" She cursed and threw the phone against the wall.

"Oh, Carol—" Martha breathed. She ran and knelt beside her friend, who had dropped to the ground. "Sweetie—" She put her arms around Carol and held her as she cried.

------

Martha lay staring out the window at the morning light, which appeared entirely too bright and cheerful to her bleary eyes. It had taken hours to get Carol calmed down and help her get to sleep. By the time Martha had fallen into bed herself, sleep was impossible. She felt as exhausted now as if she'd been lying awake for a week.

Her lip curled at the thought of Carol's "wealthy, charming, attentive bachelor." And yet the two of them had been so happy together for a while—at least, Carol thought they had. _Would I do something like that just to try to keep Jonathan from leaving?_ The thought chilled her. She couldn't see herself ever being weak enough to submit to that kind of pressure. But then, she had never thought of Carol as being weak, either.

_But Jonathan wouldn't do that, anyway_, she reminded herself. _He would never say something was my problem and walk away. Especially if it was his problem too. _She sighed. If only M.M. had been more like that. . . .

She sat up suddenly, listening. There it was again—something that sounded like a knock on the front door. She grabbed her robe and hurried to see before the noise woke Carol.

It was one of the girls from the next apartment. "Your boyfriend's on the phone, Martha," she announced in a disgruntled tone. Apparently she'd been sleeping late too. "He's down in the lobby and says he needs to see you. Says he can't get you on the phone."

"Oh—I'm sorry." Martha glanced involuntarily at the coat closet, where she'd shoved the broken phone last night to get it out of the way. "Could you please tell him I'll be right down?"

She dressed quickly, looked in on her sleeping roommate, and ran down to the lobby, where male visitors were expected to stay except during designated visiting hours. Jonathan was still standing by the front desk, where he'd made his call. He turned to face her as she came in, and she was startled to see how haggard he looked.

"Jonathan! Is something wrong?"

"No—everything's fine." He ran a restless hand through his hair. "I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday morning—"

"It's okay." She came closer and put her hand on his arm, looking anxiously at him. "What's going on?"

"I just—I really need to talk to you." He glanced around the lobby, where a few early risers were studying or talking. "Somewhere private."

"We can't go too far. I don't want to leave Carol for long. She had a bad night."

Concern came into Jonathan's eyes. "Is she okay?"

"She will be," Martha said, hoping she was telling the truth. "But she's still asleep."

"I've got the truck parked out back. We can just sit in there, if that's all right."

"Okay." But Martha watched him doubtfully as they walked toward the back door. Whatever he'd said, something was wrong. She'd never seen him look this upset.

TBC . . . 


	7. Chapter 7

"Now tell me what's going on."

Jonathan sighed, looking out the windshield instead of at her. "Martha—I realized something last night. I've been up all night thinking about it."

"You look it." She found herself trying to rally him out of his dark mood, at least a little. But for the first time, he didn't seem to hear what she'd said.

"This is really hard to say. I came here this morning because I wanted to tell you before I lost my nerve."

Martha's voice sounded very small. "What is it?"

Jonathan finally turned to look at her. "We—we can't keep seeing each other," he said hoarsely.

Now her voice was gone completely. But the shock on her face prompted him to keep going.

"I haven't been honest with myself—or you. I enjoyed being with you so much that I wouldn't look at the big picture. I kept telling myself it was okay for us just to hang around and have fun together." He cleared his throat. "But last night—I finally had to admit we've gone beyond that. I shouldn't have let it get this far."

"Why not?" she finally managed to whisper.

"Isn't it obvious? Martha, I'm a farmer—"

"Thanks, I didn't know that." Martha was cuttingly sarcastic.

"Let me finish. That's all I'll ever be—it's the only thing I'm good at. I don't mind that." He looked out the windshield again. "But if you and I got serious—you're not used to that life. It's uncertain, it's constant work, there's hardly any money in it at the best of times. I couldn't ask you to live that way. That's why I think we need to end this now, before we get to that point."

Martha couldn't believe she was hearing this. "You think I'm not strong enough to handle that kind of life?"

"Martha, you're one of the strongest people I've ever known," Jonathan said softly, looking into her eyes. "And the smartest. You could do anything, be anything—"

"You sound just like my father," Martha said bitterly, and saw him wince. He knew how she felt about the things her father said; she'd told him often enough. Immediately she was sorry, but she was too angry to let him know that.

"I'm not saying you should do what your father wants. All I'm saying is that I can't give you the kind of life you're used to."

"Jonathan, all you've ever heard me do is complain about the kind of life I'm used to. What makes you think that's what I want from you?"

"That's not what I mean," Jonathan said, a little impatiently. "I mean the kind of life you deserve. A life where you don't have to worry about whether you can pay the bills from one month to the next." His tone softened. "You should have something better than that, Martha. You have so much going for you. I don't want to hold you back."

Now Martha was the one to look away. _So now _you're_ trying to dictate what I can and can't do. You're trying to tell me what I want. You don't even care what I really want! _At the back of her mind she knew that was unjust, but she couldn't help it.

"All right," she said very quietly, not trusting herself to speak any louder. "If that's what you think."

"Martha—" Jonathan sounded as if he were choking. She looked over at him again; there were tears in his eyes. "Martha, I'm sorry." He drew a shaky breath. "But I really do think it's best."

"Fine." Martha started to open her door. Jonathan automatically moved to get out on his own side. "Don't bother," she snapped. "I can get it." She opened the door and stepped out, then turned to look at him once more. The misery on his face almost undid her, but she lifted her chin and steeled herself.

"Goodbye, Jonathan," she said. He didn't answer.

She shut the door and forced herself to walk, not run, back to the building, head high and shoulders back. She was thankful he couldn't see the tears running down her own face.

TBC . . .


	8. Chapter 8

"Mail's here." Carol dropped a couple of envelopes in Martha's lap and went to put down her books.

"Hmm? Oh, thanks." Martha turned away from the window, set aside the textbook she hadn't looked at for the past half hour, and began looking listlessly through her mail.

Carol watched her out of the corner of her eye for a minute. "I meant to tell you, I got a get-well card from Jonathan on Monday," she said, carefully casual. "I guess he still thinks I had the stomach flu?"

Martha nodded without looking at her.

"Well, it was nice of him."

Martha nodded again.

Carol looked at her with open concern now. "I've been wanting to ask you about Tall, Blond, and Handsome," she said slowly. "You haven't mentioned him for days. And this morning in class, you didn't even look at each other. What's going on?"

"It's not important."

"Martha, of course it's important." Carol came and sat by her, taking her hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. We've been talking about my problems till I'm fed up with them. It would be a relief to talk about yours for a change."

Martha smiled a little, sadly, and squeezed her hand back. "I appreciate it, sweetie, but there's not much to say." She swallowed hard. "He dumped me, that's all."

"_Jonathan_? Dumped _you_?" Carol's eyes widened, and then she shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"I was there, Carol! I heard what he said. 'We can't keep seeing each other' is a pretty good sign that you're getting dumped, don't you think?" Martha looked quickly out the window, blinking hard. She was afraid she was going to cry again, and she didn't want to. She was sick and tired of crying.

"With most guys, yeah. But when a guy's as nuts over a girl as Jonathan is over you—"

"Sounds like you're as wrong about that as I was."

"Oh, come on, Martha. In case you haven't noticed, half the females on campus are drooling over Jonathan Kent, and he doesn't know they exist. Helen of Troy could walk past him in the altogether and he wouldn't take his eyes off you. There's got to be something more to this."

Martha was silent.

"_Well_?" Carol pressed her. "What did he say?"

"I told you already."

"Besides that. _Why _did he say he couldn't see you anymore?"

Martha took a deep breath. "You want to know what he said?" She gave a brief but thorough description of the conversation. It wasn't hard; the words had run through her head so many times she could have recited them backwards.

"Wow." Carol sat still for a minute, thinking. "That's about the sweetest thing I've ever known a guy to do."

"What?" Martha said sharply. This was not the kind of sympathy she'd been looking for.

"You heard me," Carol retorted. "I can tell you're too mad at him to see straight. But if you'd really think about it—"

"I _have_ thought about it."

"Rationally, I mean. Martha, you've got a complex about people making up your mind for you, and it's no wonder. But Jonathan didn't say what he did because he wants to run your life. He said it because he cares about you. If you weren't so snarled up in your own feelings about your father—and if you weren't so stubborn—you'd see that."

"Thank you, Sigmund Freud." Martha rolled her eyes.

"That _was_ pretty good, wasn't it?" Carol looked surprised at herself. "Maybe I should switch my major to psych."

"Carol—"

"Martha, you know I'm right about this. Jonathan wants the best for you—so much that he put you ahead of his own feelings. Do you have any idea how much a guy like that is worth?" There was a long pause before Carol referred to the subject that had come into both their minds. "He's worth a lot more than M.M.'s millions, I'll tell you that."

Martha stared at the floor, biting her lip. She was seeing Jonathan's eyes when she had said goodbye to him. She had been trying for nearly a week to forget that look. It was so much easier to be angry with him than to think about how much he must be hurting.

"Maybe Jonathan doesn't know what's best for me," she countered, but in a more subdued tone.

"Maybe he doesn't. But you do." Carol leaned forward and looked intently at her. "So maybe you should tell him."

"Carol, I can't hang around whining and clinging to him when he's put an end to things. Even if I could bring myself to do it, it wouldn't do any good. He told me what he thinks."

"But you didn't tell him what you think. You should at least do that." Carol gave her a wistful little smile. "Hey, do it for me, if not for yourself, okay? Right now I think I need to believe there's such a thing as happy endings in the world."

She got up, suddenly restless, and walked over to pick up a letter from her desk in the corner. "Otherwise I might do something really stupid," she added in a strange tone.

It took Martha a moment to catch on; then she jumped up, startled. "Carol, did that guy write to you?" She didn't need to wait for an answer. "Why on earth . . . "

"Well, he doesn't mention it, but I've heard some things about that girl he was seeing behind my back." She stopped to consider. "Or maybe I was the girl he was seeing behind her back. Anyway, they say she's been in and out of mental hospitals." Carol laughed mirthlessly. "No wonder he had psychiatrists on the brain."

"If she's not mentally ill _now_, she will be by the time he's through with her."

"Yeah, probably." Carol stood weighing the letter in her hand. "So I guess I'm his fallback plan or something."

"Carol, you wouldn't—"

"Oh, I don't know." Carol crumpled the letter, but dropped it back on the desk instead of into the trash can. "I'm not even sure I'd really want to. But I've felt so lonely these past few days." Her voice shook. "I'm not as strong as you, Martha. I hate being lonely."

"Oh, sweetie." Martha went over and hugged her. "I know it's hard. But he's not good enough for you. He's not even good enough to look at a woman after the way he acted—and now he wants to use you all over again. He should be—" she searched for a punishment that would be fitting—"castrated!"

Carol made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. Martha had to laugh too, but her tone was still serious. "Carol, weren't we just talking about rational thought? Why don't you try it yourself?"

"I know." Carol brushed at her eyes, then attempted another tiny smile. "Well, maybe I will if you will."

TBC . . .


	9. Chapter 9

Martha positioned herself by the fountain a full twenty minutes before class time. From there she had the best view of the way Jonathan always came. She stood there twisting her hands nervously together, checking her watch every thirty seconds.

But after waiting almost ten minutes, she still gave a start when she saw him walking slowly up the sidewalk, his eyes on the ground, appearing lost in thought.

_Now or never_. She stepped forward as he approached. "Jonathan."

It was his turn to start as he looked up. "Martha!" He flushed and took an involuntary step back. "I—I'm sorry. I, uh—I didn't see you."

"I have to talk to you," Martha said. He glanced over at the class building. "Now. It won't take long."

Jonathan hesitated, looking as if he wished he'd been late to class for once in his life. "Okay," he finally said, and followed her over to stand closer to the fountain, where they were out of the way of passing traffic. He set down his books on the rim next to hers and turned slowly to face her. "What is it?"

Martha was trembling, but she kept her voice as steady as she could. "Jonathan, what you said the other day—I didn't handle it well at all."

"Martha, it's okay—"

"No, wait a minute. I was unfair to you. You were doing what you thought was right. But you still weren't seeing the big picture. I should have done what you did. I should have spoken up and told you what I thought."

"What . . . ?" Jonathan seemed to be having trouble remembering how to form words.

"You said I could do anything and be anything I want. Would you like to know what I really want?"

Now his faculty of speech seemed to have left for good. All he could do was nod.

Martha looked him squarely in the eyes. "I want to be with you, Jonathan. I want someone as warm and caring and special as you in my life. I think I always have. I think that's why I fell in love with you the first time I met you."

The change that had come over Jonathan's face was like the sun breaking free from a storm cloud. Martha saw it, and it gave her fresh courage. She moved closer and reached for his hand.

"I don't care if you work on a farm or in a—in a salt mine. I want to be there with you."

"Martha—" Jonathan tried to interject. But she was on a roll now and couldn't stop, or just didn't want to stop. It felt so good to finally say all this to him. Her words came out in a rush.

"You were right that you wouldn't give me what I'm used to. You've already given me so much more than that. No one has ever cared for me the way you do—not enough to put me before anything else. That's what matters to me. That's what I want."

"_Martha._" Jonathan's voice sounded strangely close to laughter—or tears? She wasn't sure which. But there was an odd little smile on his face. "Can I say something?"

Martha's energy and breath had finally run out, and as they did her confidence suddenly took a nosedive. _Did I say too much? Was I wrong about how he feels? He's not— laughing at me, is he?_

For the first time her gaze wavered and dropped. "What?" she asked, her voice now uncertain.

Jonathan put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up. She saw that his eyes were shining. "I love you, too."

The air went out of Martha, for all the world as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. "_Oh._ . . ." was all she could manage. As many times as she had imagined him saying those words to her, nothing had prepared her for the sweetness of actually hearing them.

Her own eyes flooded with tears as she stared up at him. He gently caressed her face, and then leaned down as she stood there, still too stunned to move.

It wasn't Martha who started the kiss this time.

----

Carol was toying absently with something in her pocket as she came up the sidewalk. A trash can was standing near the entrance to the courtyard; she looked at it as she passed, slowed in her walk for a second, then looked away.

She raised her eyebrows as a sight she hadn't expected met her glance. A couple was standing by the fountain, clinging to each other and kissing passionately, completely oblivious to the stares and grins of passersby.

Carol stopped suddenly and did a double take. Then she started to grin herself.

"Attagirl," she whispered, with a thumbs-up that made another student walking by look at her in surprise. "Let's hear it for rational thought."

The words reminded her of something that took the grin from her face. She put her hand in her pocket again and stood there irresolutely, biting her lip. Then, drawing a deep breath, she turned and deliberately walked the few steps back to the trash can. She pulled out the wrinkled letter signed "Lionel," looked at it, and found herself hesitating again.

As her own words of a couple of days before echoed in her mind, she set her teeth. _All right, Martha_, she thought._ A deal's a deal._ She tore the letter in half and dropped it in, then leaned against the trash can and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes.

After a moment, she opened them and looked back over towards the fountain. The couple was still there. Jonathan had lifted Martha off the ground and was holding her tightly; they were both laughing. Carol stood and watched them for a few seconds. Tears were welling up in her dark eyes, but at the same time, she couldn't help smiling again. It felt pretty nice to be smiling so much in one morning.

With a wink at her unseeing friend, she walked past the two of them and headed for class.

ALMOST the end—but not quite! . . .


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

Jonathan Kent came into the kitchen to find his wife and son laughing uproariously.

"Hey, you two. What did I miss?" he asked.

"Hey, Dad," Clark greeted him. "Is it true you took so long to kiss Mom that she had to kiss you first?"

"What brought _that_ up?"

"You know Clark has that field trip to Metropolis U. next week," Martha reminded him. "I was just telling him about some of the lesser-known historical landmarks to look for. Like my old apartment building."

"Oh. Well, I hope you told him about the fountain, too." Jonathan stopped on his way to the refrigerator to give her a quick kiss.

Clark was too intent on his current inquiry to pay attention to talk about fountains. "Did she really make the first move, Dad?"

"Yeah, she did." Jonathan smiled at the memory. "Attacked me right there at the top of the steps. I was so startled I nearly fell down them and broke my neck."

"Didn't keep you from kissing me back," Martha teased.

"Okay, guys!" Clark held up his hands in mock protest. "More than I needed to know!" He went to get glasses out of the cupboard as Jonathan took out a pitcher of lemonade. "So what was the holdup, anyway?" he asked.

Jonathan didn't even have to make an effort to remember. "She was too good for me."

"Come on," Clark scoffed.

"I'm serious. Kent men always end up marrying above them, son." He rumpled Clark's hair. "You remember that."

"That is the most utter _garbage_—" Martha began.

"It's true! I told you that you deserved better, remember? Lucky for me, you just wouldn't listen to me." He grinned as he handed her a glass of lemonade. She made a face back at him.

"So then how'd you get up the nerve to take her out in the first place?" Clark wanted to know.

Jonathan had drained his glass in a couple of gulps. He rinsed it and set it in the sink before replying. "I almost didn't. But when the class note-taker wants your notebook, it's usually an encouraging sign."

Martha's eyes widened. "You _knew_?"

"That's not the way I heard it!" Clark chimed in.

"Well, of course not." Jonathan leaned against the counter and looked at his son with the patient expression of a teacher trying to explain to a slow-witted student that two plus two equals four. "Think about it, Clark. The most beautiful girl in the entire world walks up to you and asks to borrow your notes. Do you say, 'Wait a minute, I thought you were the note-taker,' or do you—"

"Give her the notes," Clark finished, with a grin that was very like his father's.

"Exactly." Jonathan winked at his flabbergasted wife and went back outside.

The End


End file.
